


jump into fire

by norio



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 16:52:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9132955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norio/pseuds/norio
Summary: “Yeah? I eat a lot of meat.”“You’re a rabbit.”“But meat is really good."





	

**thousands of years ago**

Bokuto leapt, and fell. 

The cold water smashed into his face like stone. The river current caught and yanked his hind leg down. The surface above held a dim blue light, but his hands scrabbled against the dark water. Flurries of bubbles surrounded him. His lungs burned, his wounds stung, and he was drowning. His chest collapsed and he opened his mouth and salty water rushed inside and he held out his hands like shadows but he was drowning. 

Something bashed against his side. Hard and scratchy, thicker than his waist. He clutched onto the log, hands scraped and bleeding. When the wood bobbed up from the water, he gasped a desperate breath of cold air. Waves crashed over him again, drowning him again, and back up again, a short gasp again, and then drowning again. He clutched onto the log. The rain battered his wet skin. He could not see the shore. His vision dimmed. 

When he awoke, he had washed onto a rocky beach. His lip had been cut. His hands had been scraped along the fingers and palms. The rain still swept over him, hitting his eyes and mouth. 

A figure stood near a thicket of trees. Bokuto blinked, and the figure vanished with the fog. 

The palace had been enshrouded with mist. His head still woozy, he clambered up the steps and dripped his way through to the throne room. Walls, glittering with gold, pavilions of green and white jade, blossoming trees woven through the painted halls. The emperor sat behind a heavy green curtain, his silhouette barely visible through the folds. Hinata leaned left on his cushion, his foot fallen asleep. Ushijima sat with his face solemn. Kuroo lounged on his seat, striped tail flickering against the wall. 

“I’m here,” Bokuto announced. “I leapt from rock to rock, and I fell and nearly didn’t make it, but I swam all by myself to the shore, even though it was really hard. So I’m here.” The emperor’s acknowledgment rolled over him, a blanketing and comforting warmth. A white pillow emerged from the mist. Bokuto sat on his seat, stretching out his wet paws. Kuroo’s interested eyes turned towards him, but he did not speak in the presence of the emperor. 

A modestly dressed boy entered through the golden gates, the fifth animal in the room. His neat clothes dripped with water, but he stood with his back straight. He had antlers like a stag. His tail glimmered with scales like a carp.

“I could have flown over the river,” the boy said, answering the emperor’s silent question. “But I stopped to make rain for the humans of the earth. While at the riverside, I saw a helpless creature and breathed wind to give it aid.” Bokuto’s damp hair bristled. A golden pillow appeared beside him, this embroidered in amber flowers and leaves. The boy knelt on the pillow. His hands folded across his lap. His wet haori followed the straight line of his back. His feet, neatly tucked beneath him. He did not spare Bokuto a glance.

Bokuto thought the figure in the forest had antlers and a tail, too. 

The golden doors opened again. The next zodiacal animal stepped onto the smooth jade floor. 

**thousands of years later**

The man stood outside the humble shop. He wore black gloves and a dark coat, which hung off his frame in simple lines. He opened his umbrella. A moment later, the first droplet of rain fell from the sky. 

He was handsome in the way old paintings were beautiful: ancient, distant, austere. Yet he held himself with modesty, elbows neatly arranged by his sides. Under the shadow of his umbrella, he examined the shop with a thinning mouth. Finally, he turned and walked away. He stepped on the puddles as if they were ground, and his shoes emerged dry. 

The scrutinized shop had seen better days. Rain had already swelled and dripped into the cracks of the wooden roof, landing into blue rubber buckets. Along the wall, dried herbs had been preserved in plastic jars. Yet the counter displayed a selection of rice cakes, mochi shaped by clumsy hands. While the store had the nobility of history, it also bore the mark of disuse. 

“Bokkun,” the old man said, who carried a small box of purchased mochi underneath his arm. “Were you looking for that man?” 

“You’re right! I have to go, sorry, sorry!” Bokuto wiped his hands of flour against a damp towel, and vaulted over the counter. “Just close the door for me! Don’t worry, if any thief breaks into here, they’ll go away poorer!” 

Bokuto fled down the street, running until no human eyes turned his way. He dropped to all fours and leapt onto the cobbled wall. His hind legs propelled him forward, the rain falling on his pelt. The man had covered a significant distance, as if he had crossed the massive lake by walking. Bokuto finally caught up to him on a lonely stone path, buffeted by dark trees. The man turned at the approaching footsteps, and though his visage kept still, seemed visibly surprised. 

“Finally! I’ve been calling you,” Bokuto said. 

“Yes. You’ve filled my answering machine.” The man extended the umbrella over Bokuto’s head. The rain did not touch the antlers on his head. Vestigial traits were what Konoha had called them, though that wasn’t entirely accurate. Even in human form, Bokuto’s rabbit ears were apparent to those with spiritual prowess, just as Akaashi’s dragon traits were obvious in his.

“Akaashi, we’ve known each other for a long time. A long, long time.”

“Not that long.”

“We’re basically best friends.”

“We haven’t talked in years.”

“So let me borrow your pearl!” 

“No.” Akaashi held out his umbrella. “That is what I came here to tell you. My apologies, Bokuto-san. But I cannot lend you my pearl.” 

Akaashi Keiji, always so polite. Technically, Bokuto was older than him by a measly year, which most would consider a second. But Akaashi spoke formally with him, even while Bokuto stifled another sneeze and wrung out his sopping jacket. 

“Just hear me out, Akaashi!” 

“I heard you. A hundred times. This is not something I can do for you.” Akaashi nodded towards him, and began to walk away. Bokuto sneezed again, somehow holding Akaashi’s umbrella beneath his arm. But he still trotted after him, weaving back and forth on both sides of the pathway. 

“I’ve got a good reason, okay! I’m not just borrowing it to play volleyball with it!” 

“What are you doing?” Again, the same immovable face, and the same recognizable surprise. “Please return to your shop. You’ll grow sick with your small body.”

“I’m not small! And rabbits have been, have been out in the cold, for years, and, hold on—” Bokuto sneezed and shook furiously. As a rabbit, his pelt had gotten wet to the skin, which meant in human form, his clothes had turned sopping wet and clung onto him with a persistent chill. So while Akaashi was wrong, completely wrong, about the getting sick issue, he could almost forgive him for thinking he was small. Akaashi’s true dragon form was considered too powerful for even spiritual eyes. But in human form, at least, Bokuto was taller. He carried this with pride.

“You’ll get pneumonia. Please return home.” 

“I’m not gonna die from a little rain! That’s a myth, just like it’s a myth that rabbits die from loneliness, and it’s a myth that you can’t touch baby rabbits. All lies.” Bokuto wiped his nose with his sleeve. 

“So I can touch you. That’s good to know.” Akaashi swung around. “My apartment is close. If you wish, you may dry yourself there.” 

“I knew you’d listen to reason!” Bokuto sneezed. 

He did feel, sensitively, that Akaashi was powerful. He felt it along his fur, riveting electricity sparking inside him. All the animals knew that the dragon was the most beloved by the emperor, and contained powers barely known to them. Kuroo had described Akaashi as cunning, yet capable of goring those who fell into his path. Bokuto didn’t feel the danger. He thought of himself as a rabbit clenched in the jaws of a dragon, except the dragon would not bite down upon his head. Akaashi could kill him, and roast him, and eat him. But he didn’t think Akaashi would do any of that, which was why he fearlessly leapt into his path. 

Akaashi’s apartment had been spoken in curt modesty to reality. The floor numbers of the elevator rose to a frightening level, and he finally stepped out into a richly simple apartment. Large windows faced the lake below and the skyline of the staggering mountains. Though everything was finely furnished, white sofas and couches of high quality materials, Akaashi had restrained from any gaudiness. He decorated with yielding flowers in carved glass vases and a simple wide-screen television without any accessories attached. The walls had been lined with a false gold trim, which somehow shone with a kind glow despite the rain pelting the windows.

“Were you calling me a baby?” Bokuto asked, drying his hair with a fine linen towel. 

“Would you like a bath?” 

“No. No! I’m here to talk serious business with you, Akaashi. Serious.” Bokuto rubbed his hair with ferocity. “I really think you called me a baby. Akaashi! You’re not allowed to call me a baby! I’m telling the emperor.”

“Why would you want my pearl?” Akaashi shook out his umbrella. “A small rabbit like you has no use for such power.”

“I’m telling you, I’m not small! It’s just, I heard your pearl can control the ebb and flow of water, and stuff like that.” Bokuto fidgeted with the ends of the towel. “And I’ve been requested to the emperor’s palace by New Year’s Day.”

“You wish to present him my pearl?” 

“No! To get to the emperor’s palace, you have to cross a river.” Bokuto lapsed into shameful silence. He’d taken off his wet jacket to dry, leaving him with a shirt that molded to the shape of his chest. The rise and fall of his breath was visible. Akaashi stared at him with unmoving eyes. 

“You’re afraid of rivers,” Akaashi said. 

“I’m not afraid of them! I’m not afraid of anything, I’m the best.” Bokuto twisted his fingers into his wet shirt. “But it might be easier if the river, you know. Ebbed. Instead of flowed. When I was crossing it.” 

“I see.” Akaashi tucked the umbrella onto a tiled corner. “We’ll continue this discussion once you’ve changed. Please pick out anything you like in my wardrobe.” 

In the quiet room, Bokuto dressed in a warm and dry sweatshirt. The sweatshirt surprised him—he didn’t expect Akaashi to be the type to wear something so casual. When he dragged it over his head, he thought it smelled like rain. He wondered if Akaashi smelled like rain, too. 

He wasn’t afraid of rivers. He really wasn’t, though he had to sit down and take a deeper breath behind the closed door. Sometimes, he simply had dreams of drowning. He’d be in the river again, unable to take a single breath, lungs burning, touching nothing but water. It was the feeling of nothingness. He’d sink, and he couldn’t grab onto a single thing. He’d just be pulled downward into the cold. Bokuto ran his fingers over his wet hair, straightened out the sloppy sweatshirt, and pulled open the door again.

Akaashi had set out two glasses of water. He had been reading a book, but placed it away when Bokuto approached. 

“I still cannot lend you my pearl,” he said, and then quickly, as Bokuto was opening his mouth, “but I believe we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement. I, too, have business at the emperor’s palace. I will fly you over the river.” 

“Really—!”

“But this is not a favor.” Akaashi sat with his elbows poised on the table. “I wish to become a celestial dragon, rather than a water dragon. To do so, I must present a million souls I have saved.” 

“And you want to save my soul!” 

“No.” Akaashi gazed at him with cold eyes. “I already have the souls. But I wish to present the souls to the emperor in a favorable form. It has been said a grain of rice symbolizes one soul, and mochi symbolizes a million souls. If you will help me make a mochi worthy of the emperor, then I will carry you over the river.”

“A deal, huh? Like the old days.” 

“I suppose.” A glimmer of a smirk rippled over Akaashi’s face. “We’ll see if you can make a good mochi.” He had a quiet voice, still taut with vague tension. Bokuto placed his fists at his hips and straightened against him.

“I’ll make you the best mochi you’ve ever seen! I’ve been told my mochi is the best in the world!”

“By who?”

“By myself.” 

“I see.” Akaashi stood from his seat. “I have business with my human company, but I’ll visit you tomorrow. If you can keep your end of the deal, then I’ll keep mine.”

When Bokuto sprang home, the rain had stopped and left damp ground behind. The moon penetrated through the clear clouds, a halo formed around its glow. He was aware of the moon at his back, even when he entered his shop. The pale light flooded the undisturbed counters. No thieves in the building, though he doubted they would have taken anything precious. A person with certain knowledge could boil the elixir of life from the herbs against the wall, but he supposed he was the only one with such knowledge. 

He hopped to the counter and hopped towards the back. Pictures lined the shabby shop walls: him in rabbit form, surrounded by various smiling people in aprons. He hopped to a blanket in the middle of the room, untouched by the pans of water. It wasn’t quite the same. Too hot for his rabbit form, too hard for his human form. But still, he nuzzled the blanket over his head and tried to close his eyes to the moon above him. 

He dreamed of a river that pulled him down, deeper, colder.

\--

By morning, the dark clouds had gathered over his store. A vague light bulged from the clouds, the trail of something long and thin. The sky thundered once, and Akaashi emerged from the woods. He had his long umbrella by his side, still dressed with impeccable neatness. The wind ruffled his hair.

“You live near a forest.” Akaashi peered behind him. “Won’t there be predators?” 

“I’m immortal, Akaashi!” 

“With a small body like yours, it will take you long to regenerate.” Akaashi snapped his umbrella shut. “But it’s no business of mine. If you would, please take me to where you make mochi.”

A side of the shop had been once borne witness to tendrils of violet flowers, dimpled in the morning dew. Now the wall hosted dried and withered leaves, resembling more like the strained herbs Bokuto kept in his store. “Once ran an apothecary,” Bokuto told Akaashi, leading him towards the back, “but Saru said, isn’t there something you want to do? And I like making food.” The kitchen adjoined the empty room with his blanket and the counter up front, and hosted sparse equipment. Bokuto plugged in the mochi machine.

“Do you believe the emperor will be pleased with a metal machine?” 

“It’s a good machine!” Bokuto frowned. “And it’s hard for me to do it the old way. Nobody wants to do the mochi pounding with me.” 

“It’s my mochi.” Akaashi removed his jacket. “I will help.” 

“It’s hard work!” 

“I understand.” Akaashi folded up his sleeves. 

Bokuto already had rice that had been steamed for two days. He dumped it on the warmed mortar in the yard, a beautiful bowl of stone accompanied by gleaming wood accompanied by thickets of wild weeds. Though Akaashi looked over the unkempt yard, he said nothing. He sat with his knees together while Bokuto kneaded the white dough, wooden mallet a good weight in his hand. While the clouds threatened to rain, Akaashi did not reach for his umbrella. 

“So what you do is turn it and add water,” Bokuto said, hoisting the mallet up, “and I’ll pound it.” 

“Very well.” Akaashi knelt by the mortar and touched the dough. “It’s soft.” 

“Of course it’s soft! Now we gotta get a good rhythm going, okay?” 

“All right.” 

Bokuto swung down on the mortar. The wooden mallet smashed against the stone and Akaashi jolted. His eyes were imperceptibly wide, mouth open, and Bokuto swung again, and again. He enjoyed the feeling of smashing the dough, and he laughed as he raised the mallet once more. This time, Akaashi took advantage of the long swing and cupped water in his hand, splashing the dough once, before Bokuto brought down the mallet. Bokuto liked jumping—he really liked jumping and leaping, which was something he could do in his rabbit form, but something he could also do in his human form. His feet were flying from the air, raised by his mallet, and he liked the dough’s softness before his eyes. Akaashi had quick hands, mixing and dashing water onto the dough.

“Is this too much water?” Akaashi said.

“What?”

“Is this—” 

Bokuto’s mallet smashed onto Akaashi’s hand. 

He didn’t move for a moment, and neither did Akaashi. The visage of the hand trembled, the human form transforming into a scaled claw that left long imprints on the dough. Akaashi tsked under his breath, raising his throbbing hand into the air. 

“Well,” Akaashi said, “if you have any bandages or splints, I believe my hand will be healed before the day’s end.”

“Akaashi.”

“But I believe that was enough water. Is the dough ready?” Akaashi frowned at the dough, where the claw marks had nearly torn the dough to pieces. “How can you tell?”

“Akaashi, I messed up!” Bokuto wailed and dove to the ground with such force that Akaashi leapt back, startled. Bokuto pounded on the floor, mallet abandoned beside him. “I broke your hand, Akaashi! I’ll never ever mochi pound again! Never ever! Never ever ever!”

“This will heal,” Akaashi said. “I’m not human.” But that only brought forth another string of wails. Bokuto had smashed his hand, and that was wrong and awful. He huddled over to the corner of the yard, knees bent and face buried. Behind him, he could hear Akaashi step forward onto the weeds, step back, and step forward again in indecision. 

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi finally said. “I believe I know enough about the process to begin shaping the dough while it’s still malleable.” 

“Fine! Do whatever you’d like!” 

“Though my hands are quite inexperienced. Perhaps I will not dust enough potato starch onto the pan. Or they will come out lumpy. Or I’ll wait too long to shape them.”

“What?” Bokuto peered from above his arm, blinking back his tears. “You can’t do that! It’ll come out all bad!”

“Who knows,” Akaashi said. 

“No, no, no! You gotta do it right, or it’s no good at all!” Bokuto sprang from his seat in the corner, stumbling because his feet had fallen asleep in the meanwhile. But he dusted the pan with the sweet potato starch while Akaashi set his fingers, and poured the sticky dough over the top. He dusted his own hands, too, and grabbed Akaashi’s hand to dust the powder on top. Akaashi blinked. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“No,” Akaashi said, though his voice was strange. He curled his long fingers into Bokuto’s calm, wrist lifting like he was afraid of touching him. “Nothing’s wrong.”

It wasn’t until Bokuto was humming and happily patting the mochi into round shapes that he twisted his head around sharply and asked, “Did you trick me?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Akaashi shaped his dough with care. “Do you usually eat all the mochi that you make?”

“I sell them, though it’s hard to sell them all.” Bokuto patted the hardening dough in his hands. “There’s this nice old man, though. He comes and buys a lot of them. He says mine are the best!” 

“Even if your methods aren’t the best.” 

“Akaashi! My methods are too the best!” 

“You smashed my hand.”

“It’s just Akaashi’s hand, so that’s fine.” 

“Aren’t you afraid of me?” Akaashi, dissatisfied with his slow pace, had transformed his broken hand into his dragon claw. Bokuto tried not to stare while Akaashi patted the sticky dough, fingers pulling the unstarched goopiness from the keratin. They resembled the talons of a hawk, sharp and curved. His long dark nails pierced the dough, while the golden claw had been powdered with the sweet potato starch. 

“I figured you saved me once,” Bokuto said. “If you were really hungry, you could have eaten me then.”

“So you did know.” Akaashi began to round another slab of dough. “That was a long time ago, but I suppose you are correct. My diet nowadays leans towards vegetables.” 

“Yeah? I eat a lot of meat.” 

“You’re a rabbit.” 

“But meat is really good,” Bokuto said sadly. He had forgotten the peacefulness of sitting around the old kitchen counter, placing the smoothed mochi away from the flat dough. Akaashi kept his solemn face while he shaped it round, which Bokuto found endearing. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the surprise and outrage of his friends discovering Shirofuku had already begun her feast. But he supposed the nightfall was arriving. The moon would come again. He kept his eyes out the window until Akaashi let out a triumphant sigh, the mochi lined in a quiet row. 

“I’ll return tomorrow,” Akaashi said. “I have more business with my company.”

“What company?”

“Several, I suppose. If I’m involved, the company grows prosperous, though my official role is akin to a shadow board trust member.” 

“I run a company too!” 

“I see.” Akaashi washed his hands in the sink, and drew on his coat. The evening above the woods had turned velvet blue, resonant and silent. The dilapidated shop had electricity hooked throughout the rooms, but Bokuto rarely turned on any lights than the kitchen and his sleeping room. The rows of cheerful pictures, people laughing and petting him, ran down the dark hallway. 

“I had lots of employees,” Bokuto said. “But they all passed away.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Akaashi pulled on a glove, tucking the other inside his pocket. “Are you by yourself now?”

“Yeah, I guess. I do all right. They left behind all this stuff for me.” 

“I heard that some rabbits don’t do well in solitude.” 

“I’m not gonna die of loneliness! I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“You’re immortal. Of course you’re not going to die.” Akaashi pinched the fingers of his glove. “That’s not what I was saying.” 

But he only bid his farewells at the door, and stepped down the empty street. When he turned the corner, another sprinkle of water hit Bokuto’s nose, and he retreated from the rain. The moon rose again outside the window where his friends once stood. 

He dreamed of an endless ocean beneath him.

\--

Akaashi wasn’t wrong about the predators in the woods, though Bokuto had never seen boar or bear. But through his back window, while he kicked away the blankets, a slinky large figure paced between the trees. A tail wisped around dark bark, the wet leaves soundless against large paws. Bokuto hurried to the front to open the door, and Kuroo walked inside.

“You can’t come in here,” Bokuto said. “Akaashi’s gonna catch your scent.” 

“Akaashi?” Kuroo paid him no mind, leaning over to the stacks of mochi boxes. “Akaashi Keiji? The dragon? That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.” 

“I know you two don’t get along.” Bokuto hopped to his counter. Kuroo dug around his coat, tossing some bills and coins across the marble. 

“You could say that,” Kuroo said easily. “He probably thinks I’m too smart. That’s why he likes you.”

“He likes me?” Bokuto beamed. 

“Missing the point,” Kuroo said. “And maybe. I haven’t heard of him hanging out with anyone else.”

“It’s just a deal, though. Like the old days. He helps me get to the emperor’s palace, and I help him with something even more important, that only I can do, because I’m great.” Bokuto grinned like a snarl, but Kuroo only tucked the boxes underneath his arm. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. 

“So you’ve been summoned,” Kuroo said quietly. “The emperor found out?”

“Probably. I’m just surprised it took this long.” 

“Listen, you didn’t do anything wrong. Just tell him that. It’ll work out.”

“But I did do something wrong! I’m kinda impure now, I guess.” Bokuto massaged his neck. The sky had turned a bleak gray. “It’ll be okay. After the first hundred years of punishment, it’ll be okay. Besides, this world probably has no need for me anymore.” 

“That’s not true,” Kuroo said, and the door opened. Akaashi passed a hand over his nose for a moment, forehead wrinkled in confusion. His eyes flickering to Kuroo. He nodded, a stiff bob of his head, and placed his umbrella into the empty holder. 

“Long time no see,” Kuroo said. “How’s it happening, Akaashi? Heard you were gunning for a promotion to celestial dragon. Seems tough, I heard you only get one chance.”

“It’s not a promotion, necessarily. It’s a lateral movement.” Akaashi stood, pristine, with his hands folded together. “Though I suppose you already know this.”

“Kuroo’s a master provocateur,” Bokuto piped in. Kuroo smiled, but in the way a tiger would expose their teeth, lip curling. His earnest amusement wasn’t so obvious to Akaashi, who straightened his shoulders. 

“Hey, now, I was just curious. If you actually became a celestial dragon, that’d mean you wouldn’t live on this earth anymore, right? Living it up in the heavens?” Kuroo smiled. “Seems like a good deal to me.”

“Yes, I would reside in the heavens. And how are you and Kenma?” Akaashi had turned his focus to the small stack of mochi boxes, finger toying with a smooth edge. “Still living like the lion and the lamb?”

“You could say that.” But Kuroo patted the boxes beneath his arm and nodded to Bokuto. “Seems like that’s my cue to go. I’ll see you later. Nice seeing you again, Akaashi.” 

“Likewise.” Akaashi didn’t release his breath until Kuroo closed the door behind him. 

“Celestial dragon, huh?” Bokuto beckoned him to the small kitchen, where he had laid out a row of modest mochi before them. He hurried to find Akaashi a seat. He used to have more stools at hand, but Onaga had helpfully put most of them into storage before he too had left. Bokuto dusted his hands onto his apron.

“You serve the gods directly. Catch any that might fall from the clouds.” Akaashi removed his gloves, hand healed and free of scars. “Like Kuroo-san said, I would live in the heavens and no longer remain on this earth.”

“Is it really so much better up there?” Bokuto leaned to look up towards the ceiling, which only had faint reminiscent of water stains in the shape of lost continents. 

“It’s simply different.” Akaashi took out a journal, flipping to an empty page. “Mice, and bulls, and tigers, and other animals, they live on this plane of earth only. But I have equal share of both heaven and earth. It simply feels time to ascend to a different plane, even if I serve as no better as a carrier to the gods.” 

“Oh. Oh!” Bokuto leaned over the table, rabbit ears twitching. “I feel the same, too! Like—like it’s better to go somewhere that’s not like this.” He touched Akaashi’s elbow without thinking, and Akaashi inhaled quietly. He did not move away from Bokuto’s touch, but he blinked once, long eyelashes casting shadows on his face. So close to Akaashi, Bokuto could feel the solemn tension holding him upright, from the calm of his face to the fur of his antlers to the faint scales glimmering whenever enough light struck upon his neck. 

“Having similarities with a rabbit does not please me.” Akaashi seemed disappointed when Bokuto withdrew his hand. 

“You seem to know a lot about rabbits,” Bokuto said. 

“I did some research when you began calling. I felt it best to devise some countermeasures. How much water did you put in this one?” Akaashi bit into the mochi delicately, hand poised on his notebook. The dough stretched out from his teeth and Bokuto snorted behind his hand. 

Akaashi tasted the mochi in small bites. He had a refined palate, and though he sighed when Bokuto smudged the neat handwriting of his notebook, he only asked the location of the bathroom. “At least,” Akaashi said, “don’t smash the mallet into my hand today.” But Bokuto did, and they sat on the open porch while Bokuto wrangled more splints from the bottom of the turmoil of his first-aid kit. 

“I’ll do it,” Bokuto said, holding out his hand. Akaashi slowly placed his hand onto Bokuto’s palm. 

“It would be nice if you took this much consideration on your downswing.” Akaashi kept his eyes on the fence, which barely kept out the encroaching woods. “You have an erratic rhythm. It’s unnecessary to raise your mallet so high. You have enough strength that even shorter poundings would be sufficient.”

“Are you saying I’m strong, Akaashi!”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Oh, well, oh, well.” Bokuto wound the tape over Akaashi’s finger. “Does this hurt?” 

“No.” Akaashi glanced at him. “This is only my human form. A wound like this wouldn’t inflict any pain on my natural claws.”

“You just don’t seem to like me touching you. Maybe,” Bokuto added, when Akaashi seemed puzzled. He twitched his rabbit ears, listening to Akaashi’s soft breath, even and rolling from his chest. 

“Not dislike,” Akaashi finally said. “I’m simply not used to it.” 

“You’re not used to touching things?”

“As I said, dragons spend their share of the time in the heavens. Things are less visceral, more amorphous.”

“Then do you want to touch me?” Bokuto clambered over the squeaking stool. Akaashi, dragon of thousands of years, mumbled something in a hitched voice, something like “Sorry?” and “Do you—” and his long fingers slid over his pen. Vestigial, that’s what Konoha had called them, but the rabbit ears were simply a spiritual part of him too powerful to suppress, just like Akaashi’s horns and long tail behind him. But he bent his ears towards Akaashi, grinning at Akaashi’s fumbling. 

“Pet me, Akaashi!” 

“Oh, that’s not—not necessary.” 

“They’re realllly soft. And reallllly warm.” Bokuto wiggled his ears. Akaashi pinched the edge of his notebook that he had brought with him, filled with his neat handwriting about texture and substance and fillings. Without looking, he brought up his hand and stroked Bokuto’s ear. His finger did not tremble, but he kept his finger in a straight line on the top layer of fur. 

“You can touch me more than that,” Bokuto complained. Akaashi stroked again, this time his finger dimpling the white fur in the wake. He had a stoic expression, but his eyes followed the twitching of the ears with deep fascination. He sat rigid, hand moving slow and steady.

“Are they sensitive?” Akaashi asked, quiet like they were in the midst of a crowd.

“I guess, yeah. But you won’t hurt me.” 

“They’re warm.” Akaashi spoke like he was delivering a lecture, but he had a youthful expression on his face, eyes bright and entranced. He brought up his splinted hand to stroke the other ear. His touch was light and delicate, but Bokuto could feel the fingertips gliding over the fur, running down to his hair, bringing his touch back up again. The smell of rice swelled in the air, hot and steamed, still lingering on the open porch. Beyond the shallow fence, he could see the bark of trees half-wet from the rain, small mushrooms sprouting from the roots. Akaashi touched him, and Bokuto closed his eyes and shivered. 

“Cold?” In the darkness, Akaashi’s voice emerged crisp and soft. 

“No, it feels good. Touch me more, Akaashi. More,” he insisted. 

“It’s difficult, given that you’ve broken my hand again.” But Akaashi’s hand already seemed to have healed well, despite the bludgeoning of Bokuto’s mallet, because his fingers arched to the roots of the ears and stroked the fur downward in just the right way, and Bokuto shivered again. 

“It’s been a long time,” Bokuto said. “They used to do this all the time. My friends. I only had to ask them a few times every day.”

“A few times?”

“Five or ten times, I forgot which.” 

“I’ve seen the pictures. They seem like patient people.” Stroke, another stroke. Bokuto could hear a bird chatter in the woods, a bright green tendril breaking through the sifting dirt, the rippling of a stream, the creak of the rocks, the mountains groaning, the clouds drifting, and Akaashi’s heartbeat, so loud in his sensitive ears.

“They were good people,” Bokuto said. 

“But I wonder if they were using you. For your skills, knowledge, or prosperity.” 

“They weren’t like that, Akaashi.” Bokuto leaned forward, and felt the warm hand slide down his ear. “You worry all the time about nothing.”

“Perhaps. I am a father, after all.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I have nine children.”

“Oh, I should meet them. I think I have nice clothes somewhere.” 

“No, it’s not like that. Having children in the heavens is more like giving birth to fully-fledged offspring. Our relationship is that of comrades, not family.” 

“Yeah?” Bokuto leaned forward. “I wasn’t really listening, Akaashi. But it’s nice hearing you talk. You have a really nice voice, you know.”

“Is that so.” Amusement. “I wonder—does your own loud voice sometimes hurt your own ears?”

“Yeah.” 

Soft laughter. Bokuto didn’t dare open his eyes. When Akaashi finally reluctantly stopped, the moon had already slid fast from the clouds. Bokuto felt warm and pleased all throughout his limbs, but when he wrapped himself up in blankets that night, he remembered most the smell of rain on Akaashi’s skin.

\--

“Bokkun, have you changed your recipes lately?” The old man watched as Bokuto bundled up the boxes of mochi. “They taste very good.”

“I have a friend who comes to help me out. Oh, there he is!” Bokuto perched on the counter. Akaashi entered, gloves adorned, umbrella by his side. He blinked and nodded to the old man. The old man appraised Akaashi for a moment, and then his face broke out into a warm smile, wrinkling his cheeks and eyes.

“Good, good,” the old man said.

When the old man left, Akaashi unloaded his first-aid kit into a small cabinet. New splints, new bandages for his hands whenever Bokuto pounded on them. But Bokuto had different plans for the day.

“I heard there’s a shop a few towns away from here, and they sell really good rice,” Bokuto said. “So let’s go!” 

“Is that truly necessary?” Akaashi tucked away the last of the bandage rolls. “If any grain of rice represents a soul, then any rice would be equally good for this task. The emperor would look favorably on a perhaps plainer type of—”

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Bokuto reached down and pulled Akaashi up by the hand. He didn’t bother locking the door. Akaashi was quiet while Bokuto tugged him down the road, which was surprising for Akaashi’s usual acrid tongue. When Bokuto swiveled to look back, Akaashi seemed fixated on their joined hands.

“Do you always wear gloves, Akaashi?” 

“No,” Akaashi said. “When you break my hands, they won’t fit in the gloves when I return home.”

“You said that was a secret, Akaashi!”

“When did I say that?”

They took the bus at the nearest stop. A man listed in the far corner, a mother and a child sat in the front seats, and the bus driver gave a brisk nod when they boarded the bus. Bokuto insisted on the window seat, and Akaashi only thinned his mouth in response. Bokuto liked the window—he could see them passing by the small shops, the wooden houses, and the winding side streets filled with busting flowers and jingling bikes. His ears could listen to the smallest breath of a child and the quiet footsteps of a cat from streets away. But he could also listen to the rocking waves of the lake, and he stiffened when the bus trundled over a bridge, water flanking both sides.

“Are you able to swim?” Akaashi had folded his hands in his lap, gazing out the window. Bokuto tried to flatten his ears to allow Akaashi a better view, though he supposed to any humans, he would appear to be flattening only his hair.

“Yeah, I can swim. In swimming pools, and stuff like that.” Bokuto turned back to the blue-green of the lake. “It’s just—I’m not scared, but it’s just, rivers and lakes and oceans. They’re deep. You don’t—you can’t touch anything. You just sink.”

“Why did you want to live by a lake?” 

“Washio’s family lived nearby. That was a long time ago, anyway. And I’m not scared of the water,” he said defensively. “I’m not scared of anything.” 

“Loud noises.” Akaashi refolded his hands again. “Rabbits are frightened of loud noises.”

Bokuto jumped when the bus backfired when they spilled out to their stop. The town had fields of rice, stretched into the thinning trees. They walked the dusty road to the nearest post office, which was adjacent to the only police station, where a man filled in paperwork through the dusty light of the window. The temple was the most prestigious building of the village, lacquered rooftop and bright red gates. The corners of the roof had small statues of dragons, stone shaped into a long snout, sharp teeth, and staring eyes.

“One of my children,” Akaashi said, staring up at the roof. He had tossed his coat over his arm. Bokuto bowed to the roof, his rabbit ears flopping over his head and hanging low to his knees.

“Nice to meet you,” he said.

“Or more like a representation of one of my children,” Akaashi said. 

“Tell that to me sooner, Akaashi!” 

Akaashi had not brought his umbrella, so the skies were clear. A few children trickled out from the school, shouting good-byes down the hill. Some in high school uniforms biked down the rickety road, taking the turns with well-practiced leans. Down the slope of a hill, shops had been scattered with old layers of paints and squeaking signs on rusted hinges. From the crest, the sunlight reflected the waters of the terraced fields. 

“When my mochi shop really takes off, it’ll look great.” Bokuto shoved his hands into his jacket. “I drew up plans for it and everything. Bigger kitchen, and I’ll make all different kinds. You’ll see them, all lined up in a row. Green and pink and white and everything. Blue, probably. Rabbit-shaped ones, too.” 

“That’s concerning.”

“All kinds of fillings, all kinds. Everybody will like to eat them.” Bokuto hopped over a rock. “Can you eat stuff in celestial heaven?”

“Not in the same way.” Akaashi’s brow creased. “I’m not sure if I can explain it so you would understand.”

“Don’t underestimate me, Akaashi!” 

“I suppose it’s easier to begin with the idea of consumption. When we eat, we ask the spirits to provide us with their strength, their wisdom, their fortune. It’s a sacrifice, but we—share. We partake. Does that make sense?”

“I guess it’s okay if you underestimate me.” 

An older farmhouse had bent windows pushed open. Inside, a cluster of children sang an old song, pitched deep and rolling. On their climb to the farm, the spirits of the sweltering grass and thickets of trees hummed in a high, elongated note. In Akaashi’s presence, some rippled like heat waves from their rough stones and broken sticks. The air was cold and quiet, like a winter morning. Somewhere in the fields, Akaashi had removed his gloves. His sharp fingers sometimes brushed against Bokuto’s hands.

\--

Bokuto liked mochi-making.

It had been Saru, standing with hat in his hand, that had asked him what he wanted to do. And Komi, later, had lounged on the chair and said, “You like making mochi, huh?” and “But nobody can keep up with you.” But Akaashi was patient. Even after the morning sun waned into night, he would simply push his hair from his face, bend down, and begin again. Sometimes he would stand and try to correct Bokuto’s mallet, touching, through his gloves, the crook of Bokuto’s elbow. Other times, he would hunker over the grinding stone, long tail twitching over the porch in anticipation of the mallet. Bokuto liked it—but they still weren’t good at it, which meant the mochi turned out lumpier, or wetter, or clodded up inside.

Akaashi tried his theories. Bokuto was swinging too hard, or—Akaashi was watching out for him too much, or—Bokuto took too long between poundings, or—Akaashi turned the steamed rice too much, or—but when Bokuto, reluctant, suggested that careful but swift Akaashi try the mallet, Akaashi had refused. 

“Because I’m the best?” Bokuto had asked.

“Your form takes too long to regenerate. You’d take days to heal your hands.” 

Bokuto liked swinging the mallet, so he refrained from arguing. But nevertheless, in early December, he took a journey to Akaashi’s apartment with pamphlets about dried oranges. The building lobby was empty when he entered, and he hummed when he hopped to the elevator. Surely Akaashi wouldn’t mind a visit. In fact, Akaashi probably welcomed a visit. If Bokuto was being brutally honest, Akaashi likely spent all his time with his fists gripped onto the table, pondering about mochi, so Bokuto was doing him a favor. Cheerful, Bokuto pressed the button to the top floor. 

The elevator ride took longer than he expected. Sometimes, he imagined the elevator was dropping down. His rabbit ears would hover for a moment, like gravity had hesitated before reaching out again. He had become dizzy by all the twists and turns, though the elevator numbers simply glided upwards, counting to the hundreds. 

The elevator doors slid open. The room before him was filled with treasures.

Gilded crowns, golden thrones, silver necklaces, emerald pendants, marble statues, stone carvings, wood markings, pristine tapestries, glittering chests, smoothed orbs, and gold coins spilled across the floor. Bokuto picked his way through the treasure hoard. The elevator doors closed behind him with a hiss, and when he turned, he met only a smooth wall. He didn’t like the metallic scent of the room, or the way the coins ran underneath his feet. He had to climb up a small hill of rubies and emeralds and slippery coins, loosening rivulets of scepters and gold-encrusted tomes. He tripped over a bauble, some sort of lacquered dark stand with intricate details of drifting mountains and wistful trees, and scraped his knee on the floor. 

“Hey, Akaashi,” he called to the quiet room. “Your place is a mess.”

The coins had begun to take on a bluish tinge. He felt like he had been placed inside a cage, the sound muffling in his ears. He held his inhales for longer terms, but he still felt like he couldn’t breathe. Though the room was lit by a string of lights, dimness took a hazy form out of the corner of his eyes. This wasn’t his forest, with the damp dirt between his paws and the smell of new saplings. 

When he looked up, he saw the ocean above him.

The ceiling had been decorated with carvings of clouds, lighting up the blue of the ocean. But he could see only dark water above, and he thought, for a second, he was back in the river. 

Water in his mouth and ears and eyes. Drowning. His hands reaching up and feeling nothing but the cold, the current sweeping him down, down, further down, and he couldn’t breathe. It hurt. His lungs hurt and burned, and he couldn’t feel anything except the pain, and he wanted it to stop, but it wouldn’t stop. He had to endure, one more second, but he couldn’t, and his thoughts slid away from him into shambles and he was drowning and cold and alone and he had begged them, all of them, he had the herbs in his hand, he knew the secret he would give it to them he begged in the hospital rooms and cried by himself in the empty little shop and he was drowning.

“Bokuto-san.”

He couldn’t breathe. He just wanted air, he wanted to breathe, it was frightening, the force of the river, taking him away, just stay with him, that’s what he had said, just stay.

“Bokuto-san, touch this. Please. The atmosphere—it’s not good. It’s not good for rabbits.” Bokuto couldn’t remember turning to his rabbit form, but he must have, because someone was holding his paw and pressing it against a large pearl. The pearl shone with luster, the size of a large egg. It was smooth and swam with moonlit light, catching the ocean blue and limned gold in subtle shades. It was warm and it shone bright in the room. 

“I should known better.” Someone, petting his ears. “I should have locked the door.” 

The smell of rain.

Akaashi was dressed in formal tradition, nice fabric and soft lines. He had Bokuto in his lap, petting down his ears to his back, and his face seemed to be tight. His tail was still. 

“You’re soft, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi stroked his fur, but his face remained somber. “You’re very soft. I—cannot say I’m used to touching others. Dragons are covered in scales, and I considered my human form a mere tool. It was so fragile. So breakable. I thought, how worthless. But perhaps we must be fragile—breakable—to truly feel—”

Bokuto shifted to his human form, lunging for Akaashi. He wrapped his arms around Akaashi’s neck and buried his face into Akaashi’s shoulder. Akaashi stroked his rabbit ears, again and again. 

“Are you frightened of my palace?”

“No,” Bokuto muttered. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

“Then why are you trembling in my lap?”

“It’s just cold. It’s cold.”

“I see. I like it better when you’re warm, Bokuto-san.”

“I’m always warm.” Bokuto still had the pearl in his hand. He slid his rough fingers over the smooth surface.

“No. You were cold, once. When I pulled you from the river, from a long time ago. I breathed life into your mouth. You were cold, and then you were not.” 

“I don’t remember.” Bokuto rubbed his eyes, hand still wrapped around the pearl. He could remember the hard pebbles on his back, the way his clothes had been heavy and wet. The gray mist had drifted down the hills. The world had been different in those days, the hardness of the earth, the hues of the forest. The rain had swept over his face. He remembered the smell of rain.

“It frightened me. Your warmth. I was angry. I thought you were insignificant. I thought, why would you push yourself so hard when you were so fragile, when you could lose so much.”

“Don’t underestimate me, Akaashi!”

“I’m not.” The seriousness of Akaashi’s voice made Bokuto glance at him. “I’m not underestimating you anymore, Bokuto-san.” 

With his eyes adjusting to the ocean light, Bokuto could see Akaashi’s calm face. 

“Would you like to see my palace, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi finally asked. “It’s where I have spent the last thousands of years of my life. It will crumble if I ascend to become a celestial dragon, but I believe you will enjoy some of the sights. It is, in some ways, who I am.”

“Is there food?”

“Yes.”

Akaashi held his hand, and Bokuto cradled the pearl still close to his chest. The palace stretched into the seeming curve of the ocean floor. At first, he could only stare down at the coral beneath his feet. The ceiling and the floor had been created by something resembling coral, tightly packed together. His knee still throbbed from where he had fallen on the scratchy surface. Outside, the coral colonies wove together into a garden. Red coral curled into roses, others brambly and extending out short branches through the water. Still more pushed out into quiet shelves, hard knots, tall organ towers, or long bridged antlers. Muted blues mingled with startling red, sunsets of tangerine oranges and dusky violets, and small fishes swam between the branches. 

“Can I touch your antlers, Akaashi?” 

“Why?”

“I want to.”

Bokuto thought they felt like coral, a little bit. Hard underneath the velvet, light enough to be porous.

The palace wound like a labyrinth. The window panes had been crafted from a type of clear crystal, the cuts still visible from where the coral had grown around the sides. The crystals appeared natural, a few clustered together in every room, growing from the walls. They resembled ice shards, hazy and unclear. 

Akaashi beckoned him into a notched room, and they stood aside while the crab generals marched down the hallway. They waved their orange claws in alarming precision, all their hard legs a loud chatter. Dull and weathered lobsters marched behind, and then shrimp soldiers swam in the rear. Their antennae floated through the water, held together in strict procession, their carapace and abdomens armored in a paler shade of orange. Their translucent legs rippled in waves.

Bokuto thought the palace was big, and wide, and vast, and cold, and beautiful. He said the last to Akaashi, “It’s really pretty,” and Akaashi shrugged. 

Akaashi held his hand up against a scraggly portion of the wall, which parted before his fingers. The room had the same simplistic decoration of his apartment, but with visited warmth. The bed displayed some use, though the sheets had been folded into sharp lines. Some kelp had broken off from the main forest outside the crystal glass and burst through the left side of the room. Some spiral shells had been littered onto his sandy table. The light from the shallow waves broke through the crystal ceiling, etching calm lines across the floor. He had a single chair, plain except for the silver crown hanging from the top. The crown had two notches, likely giving space for his horns. 

“This is the closest entrance to my apartment,” Akaashi said. “You’ll be safe.” His hand had wandered and returned to Bokuto’s hand throughout the journey. He still clutched onto Bokuto’s hand now. 

“Why do you want to leave this place? Isn’t it nice?”

“I enjoy it.” Akaashi seemed to consider the question for a long moment. Bokuto rubbed the pearl, still in his hand. “Then, let’s put it this way. Kuroo’s insinuations were almost correct, though not quite. To many, becoming a celestial dragon would be the highest honor. Some would say it is a dragon’s only significant achievement.”

“Really?”

“No. And I wouldn’t want my own goals associated with that sentiment. It’s simply—” Akaashi hesitated. “I believe I would be happier in the heavens. I have done my due diligence on this earth, though the tasks have not been easy. I have given humans warnings, I have given them gifts, and I return to my palace. But I would rather be a ferry to the gods than to waste away in a cage of my own choosing.” 

“So you’re lonely.”

“No,” Akaashi said. “I’m not lonely. Why would you say that?”

“Because that’s what it sounds like.” 

“No. That’s not true.”

“Okay.” Bokuto sat on the chair. He placed the pearl in his lap and lifted the crown to his head. It was a tighter fit, and he had to pull his rabbit ears together, but he managed to shove the crown to his forehead. 

“It’s bending,” Akaashi said. 

“It’s okay, isn’t it?”

“It’s my favorite crown.” Akaashi’s fingers drifted through the sand. “Though I suppose I should choose a better one to meet with the emperor.”

“I like this one! It makes me look cool, right?”

“I have more in my treasure room. I will ask if the shrimp army would like such a mundane task as to search for my crowns.”

“I’d wear one too, when I went to the emperor, but I think I’m being punished. Also, I don’t have any crowns.” Bokuto finally pried the crown off his head. He ran his fingers over the thin metal, wondering if the notches had indeed widened from the weight of his rabbit ears.

“Punished?”

“Punished. Capital P.” Bokuto wrapped his hands around the warm pearl. “I did something bad and impure, and I thought I could hide it, but I figured he’d find out in time.”

“Was it eating meat?” Akaashi furrowed his brow. “Did you eat rabbit meat?”

“I didn’t eat rabbit! I don’t eat rabbit! I’m a rabbit!”

“You were talking about patterning some mochi into the shapes of rabbits—”

“That’s different, Akaashi!” Bokuto puffed out his cheeks. “No, it’s not about that! I—I know the secret elixir of immortality, and I offered it to some humans.”

“What?” Akaashi seemed taken aback by that. His hands dropped to his sides, eyes widening, though his mouth remained a thin line.

“They didn’t accept.” 

“That’s good.” Akaashi heaved out a sigh. 

“So I asked again.”

“Bokuto-san—”

“And again, and again, and again.” Bokuto grinned, but he averted his gaze. “I begged them to take it. And some of them—thought about it. They did. But they all said no. And I don’t know why, because I thought, that’s all they would want, and I could give it to them. And the emperor said he would banish me to the moon if I ever did that, but I don’t know. I don’t know, and in the end, they all left. I think—I think I wasn’t good enough for them. Probably. I don’t know. But they left me money and the shop and I don’t get it. I asked them.”

“That’s a secret that should never be permitted into human hands,” Akaashi said. His body was wrapped in a glower, the scales more prominent in his rage. Bokuto stared down at his hands because if he looked up, he would see the rage of someone who had lived thousands of years. Bokuto flattened his ears behind him.

“Rabbits bond for life,” Bokuto said. “Did you read about that, too?”

“Bokuto-san.” Akaashi’s voice was limned in anger. The scales of his arms grew more prominent, a rainbow of colors, though mostly awash in a shimmering green. The pearl in Bokuto’s hands heated up, scalding against his palms, though he did not release it.

“I didn’t—I don’t think I bonded, because sometimes it’s hard to tell, but I don’t think I did, Akaashi. But I think I’m better with others. So I know what I did was selfish and wrong, but I thought we were friends. I thought they’d take it. I didn’t think they wouldn’t want to be with me so much that they’d refuse.” 

The curdling heat filled the room. Bokuto’s hands had begun to blister from the pearl, which rippled in hot waves. Akaashi’s tail had lengthened, stretching across the room. The wispy ends had an ancient look to them, aged and wizened, dry and sharp. 

“It was wrong,” Bokuto said. “But if I could, I’d do it again.” 

The water burbled outside. The empty bubbles rose into the air, a spray of wispy foam. The tail receded and the enormous shadow on the coral floor shrank down into Akaashi again. He stood before Bokuto, and brought his hands together slowly, touching his fingertips together.

“What did they say?”

“What?” Bokuto wiped his nose with his sleeve. 

“When you offered them the secret to immortality. Did they say ask anything?”

“I guess. Maybe. Stuff like, is this okay, or, what would happen to you.” 

“And you told them that you would be banished.”

“Well, yeah. I don’t lie.”

“I cannot speak for your friends,” Akaashi said, “but if you posed that dilemma to me, even I would have difficulty in banishing you to waste away on the moon.”

“I’d be all right,” Bokuto said. “Maybe the emperor would forgive me one day. And rabbits don’t die of loneliness.”

“But you might.” Akaashi stroked Bokuto’s rabbit ears, bare fingertips touching along the nape of his neck. His finger glided down the white fur, and Bokuto shivered. “It’s selfish to ask your friends to condemn you to an eternity of pain.” 

“We probably could have had a few hundreds of years before the emperor found out.”

“Bokuto-san.” 

“I know, I know! I know, but still.” Bokuto grinded the palms of his hands over his eyes. “If you go to nice celestial heaven, you don’t have to worry about this anymore, right? You don’t have to care.” 

“I suppose that’s true. In the heavens, many have transcended beyond feelings.” Akaashi slowly took the pearl from Bokuto’s hands. He parted his robe, revealing his sturdy chest. He pressed the pearl back close to his sternum, and it glided easily into his chest. It disappeared without a ripple, shining still past his fingertip before it disappeared inside him. “But I care now.”

“Okay.” Bokuto clenched his empty hands. 

“Bokuto-san, you are reckless and thoughtless. You jump too high for a single pounding of mochi, and you can be careless in your belongings. Your manners are unsuitable and you are stubborn. You are esoteric and confusing, and I have never needed to tend to anyone as much as I needed to tend with you.”

“Thanks, Akaashi. You know how to make me feel better.” If Bokuto closed his eyes, he could still imagine his friends in flickering silhouettes. They had laughed in his kitchen, and laughed no more. But Akaashi was bending down in front of him, robe still loosened so the fabric draped down and revealed the smooth plane of his chest. 

“But Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said quietly. “None of that means you aren’t worthy to be loved.” 

Bokuto’s heartbeat had always been faster than humans, and faster than dragons, according to his hearing. But it seemed even faster then, and Bokuto cautiously placed a finger to his wrist, trying to gauge the hurtling speed. Akaashi had turned to open the coral wall, parting the matter to reveal his apartment once more. Though his face had been turned, Bokuto still thought he could see the pearl shimmering inside Akaashi’s chest.

\--

He had asked Akaashi to wait for him outside while he ran a last errand for the shop, and he was surprised to see Akaashi had done as he was told. Because Bokuto always had great ideas—like spending the entire day making mochi, or sampling mochi from other shops in town, or borrowing Akaashi’s crowns and ordering the dust in his house around—and Akaashi would usually refute the idea. But he would come along.

Akaashi had been sitting underneath the lamp light on a bench. Snow had covered the ground, and the numbing chill had finally settled into the city. If Bokuto’s attention wandered, his teeth would begin chattering again, a nonsensical and unstoppable grind. He squeezed together his hands in some faint last rub of warmth. But despite the unrelenting wind and the flakes of white snow, Akaashi had not worn gloves. He held his umbrella against his shoulder, and the snowflakes dimpled into the plastic arch. The wind had blown some snow into his hair, which melted when Bokuto finally approached him down the road.

“Bokuto-san,” he said as greeting. 

“Were you waiting long?”

“Yes.” Akaashi held a hidden amusement in his eyes, not so strong as a twinkle, but an undercurrent of wry understanding. A gentleness known only to himself. 

Bokuto’s heartbeat always ran fast, but it began to run faster than even in the frightening palace, and he shoved his cold hand against his hot cheek. But it was too late. He knew, at that moment, the way to make the best mochi for the emperor. 

“Hey, Akaashi,” he said, too forceful, though Akaashi did not appear to notice. “If I get banished to the moon, would you visit me?” 

“Would there be any reason to do so?”

“No. I guess not.” Bokuto shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “But I’ve been to the moon before. It’s a nice place to make mochi. You can jump high up! Really high! So maybe you could come and—see me jump really high.”

“I can see you jump high from here.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Bokuto ran his fingers through his hair and against his ears, and then sprang in front of Akaashi. He walked backwards down the park pathway, clutching to a grin. “Hey, hey, Akaashi! Tonight we’re gonna make the best mochi ever!”

“What makes tonight different than all the other nights you’ve crushed my hands?”

“Because I found out something good,” Bokuto said. “Tonight, just follow my lead.” 

The earlier snowfall had cleared the air, leaving the yard fresh and sparkling with newly laid driven snow. The rock mortar seemed heavier in his hands, the mallet handle smooth and a good weight. The moon had risen above the forest, looming large and heavy above them. It possessed an ethereal tinge, a brightness emanating from its pure and subtle shadows. It was round like a pearl, unearthly and larger than his fist. The night sky was otherwise dark, solemn and grateful for the moon. Akaashi seemed to feel this, too, breath trailing from his mouth. His long fingers rested on his knees and he knelt on the porch. The moonlight tinted his hair and eyelashes. 

Bokuto swung the mallet. 

The steaming hot rice hissed at the blow. His form was clean that night. He could tell. By the shallow dip of moonlight, the dough tossed and tumbled, mashed into a sticky smoothness. Akaashi’s hands flew fast across the dough, smacking and turning the mass. Bokuto could hear the dough breathing, the air flying from the mortar, and Akaashi’s quickened heartbeat. When he raised the mallet, he could see Akaashi’s eyes gleam, mouth fixed into a stern line. The palace had been beautiful in the muffled sounds, but Bokuto could hear Akaashi now. 

Akaashi wetted the dough, first with his hands splashing into the soft dough. The water began to swirl around him, cascading beside the scales of his bare forearms. Bokuto had only known water to be cold and lonely, but white froth lined the lively waves, the moonlight catching an iridescent reflection of greens and blues and reds in the thin water. Akaashi’s hand snapped out to turn the dough and the water followed, rushing in a delicate trickle, and receded behind him again. 

When they were had finished, Bokuto stepped back to wipe his forehead with his arm. Akaashi breathed harder, chest heaving. The water had faithfully returned to the bucket. Akaashi looked to him for a moment, and then at the moon, as if looking for an explanation of the steaming dough before them. Bokuto looked to the moon, too. 

He thought it was beautiful. 

He could have asked if Akaashi knew if rabbits bonded for life, if what he felt now would stay with him forever, if even on the moon, alone, he’d still search the stars for a glint of a dragon scale. 

Instead, he said, “Let’s do it again.” 

The snow began to fall again when they shaped the dough. Akaashi’s hands glowed golden, the starch clinging to the crooks of his fingers. Bokuto smoothed the surface while Akaashi worked on two in particular, imbuing them with something good. He stacked the mochi one on top of the other.

“Worthy of an emperor,” Akaashi said. The mochi sat like two smooth stones, glowing gold and silver, like the sun and the moon.

\--

For New Year’s Eve, the path opened to a sacred hall. Kuroo would likely be there, and Hinata, and the other animals, but Bokuto hopped away from the path through the small thicket of forests. The fog grew heavier, rolling from his back. He halted, twitched his nose, and leapt across the damp floor. His paws drummed over the wakening grass. When he had left the mortal realm, a few throngs of people had already amassed close to the shrines. The barrier was thin. He could hear the murmurings and prayers beyond the trees, the branches whispering for the forthcoming year.

He flinched at the sound of running water, but he hurtled through the trees. Akaashi was standing by the riverbank, package secured by his side. He was dressed in even nobler clothing, dark fabric and a stiff gaze. With the background of hazy water, he seemed even more like an old dragon than ever before. But Bokuto still hopped towards him, sniffing his sandals.

“Bokuto-san.” Akaashi knelt to pet his back. “I’ve come to keep my end of the bargain.”

“Were you waiting long, Akaashi?” 

“Yes.”

Akaashi stretched out his arm. The water trickled beyond the bend of the curve. Akaashi’s elbow bent downwards, and his other elbow followed. The faint scales that appeared in anger now scattered across his arms, hands and feet twisting into talons. He dropped to all fours and shifted, like he was pulling himself from another world, the scales covering his long body with an iridescent shimmer, flooding with shades of emerald and spring and awash with light. His snout was long and pulled back to reveal gleaming white teeth, the ancient whiskers swayed by the rushing river. His tail had pushed back to the trees, his mane wild, his underbelly scored with lines. His antlers had grown into thin trees, branching and sharp at the ends. He was massive, the weight of his claws leaving deep prints into the wet mud. 

Bokuto stepped back. The dragon swung his head towards him, his eyes a deep green. His snout was bigger than Bokuto’s chest. When he breathed, a light wind gusted through the air. The trees trembled when the dragon stepped forward, and forward again, until his snout was close to Bokuto’s face. 

“Akaashi?” 

The dragon bent his head. The mane was not soft, but weathered. The scales felt hard against his hands, too, threatening to cut his hands. But the dragon closed his eyes at Bokuto’s touch, and Bokuto brought his arms around Akaashi’s neck. He smelled like rushing water, wild and furtive.

“You need a bigger house, Akaashi.” 

He had to try twice before he could clamber onto Akaashi’s back, hands twisted into the mane. Akaashi bent down, and then lifted into the air. The sudden movement pressed Bokuto tight against the scales, hugging Akaashi closely. The ground flew away from his feet, and he had the strange pressuring sensation that he had felt in the elevator. He could see the tops of the trees, some in the distance still coated in snow. Akaashi’s tail twisted like a fish tail, and he swam through the air.

“Wow.” Bokuto had to shout, and he thought a bit of cloud got caught in his mouth. “Akaashi, why didn’t you tell me it was a river of stars?”

The river glistened beneath them, twisting and turning over the ground. The waves caught the light, even through the thick fog, and reflected rippling stars that floated to the surface. 

Akaashi didn’t say anything, though out of necessity or apathy, Bokuto couldn’t tell. But he could feel Akaashi’s heartbeat coursing through his long body, and he pressed his cheek against the mane. The scales were hard and cold, but he liked to hug them all the same.

They landed close to the palace steps, stone as he had always remembered them. Akaashi transformed back to human form, holding the neatly wrapped package in his arms. He looked unimpressed by the flight, only sweeping his hair back to neaten the fringe. 

“Akaashi, that was amazing! That was—”

“We should go quickly,” Akaashi said. “The emperor may leave for the New Year’s ceremony if we dawdle.”

“Come on, Akaashi!” But Bokuto stepped onto the steps. His stomach twisted when they neared the double doors, but he pushed them open hastily, unwilling to give his thoughts time to form.

He had remembered a jade floor and gold pillars, but they had entered into a small room. The floor was covered in tatami mats. Only a squat table sat in the center of the room. The room itself was well-lit, like a spring day’s light penetrated through the paper doors, but Bokuto could still see the heavy fog behind him. Akaashi closed the doors. They stood in the room. 

“So you’ve finally arrived, Bokuto.” 

Bokuto leapt at the voice, jabbing Akaashi into his side. Akaashi bent over, holding his ribs, and glaring at him. Through the other side of the paper doors, a figure cast an ambiguous shadow. Even in the bright light, Bokuto could make out a vague crown. 

“Y-yes. Yes!” Bokuto dropped to his knees in a bow. “I just needed to catch a ride.” 

“I have heard what you have done.” 

Bokuto pressed his hands and forehead into the mat. He breathed, the silence overwhelming him inside the quiet room. The emperor’s voice had the threat of thunder. 

“Emperor,” Akaashi said beside him, quiet and calm. “Please forgive my interruptions. But I do not believe banishing him to the moon would be the wisest punishment.” 

“Akaashi—” Bokuto twisted his head to look at him, but Akaashi remained still.

“He will die of loneliness.” Akaashi considered this for another moment. “I have researched this.”

“I will not banish him to the moon.” The emperor spoke clearly enough that Bokuto’s ears rang with the words. “But he will need to cleanse his soul from impurities. I see that you have bonded, Bokuto. Is that truly wise?” 

“Uh,” Bokuto said, and tried to ignore the way Akaashi suddenly turned to look at him.

“As for you, Akaashi. I am pleased with your offering. The heavens would surely reap the rewards for having you as a celestial dragon.” The box had disappeared from Akaashi’s side, and Bokuto could see three round shapes through the paper door, all stacked together. Two mochis, one orange, and the emperor. Akaashi stared at Bokuto for a second longer, and then turned to bow once more to the emperor.

“But, my child. You are missing one soul.” The mochi began to disappear, the shadows reclining back. Akaashi blinked, mouth opening, and then closing. His mouth twisted, but he didn’t speak. 

“How could that be? He counted. He counted, really hard!” Bokuto twisted his hands into the floor. 

“It is a test for all those who wish to ascend to the heavens. Many count their own soul, but will keep their soul in their vessels. Perhaps, my child, you have discovered a reason to stay on the earth below.”

“No,” Akaashi said, face tight. “No. It is my only wish to ascend to the heavens. There is nothing on the earth that would tempt me. It was an oversight on my part. I have failed you.”

“Wait,” Bokuto said. “Wait, what about my soul?” 

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said, voice hushed and taut. “You don’t understand. There are requirements—”

“Akaashi saved me. He saved me once—no, twice.” Bokuto leaned forward. “Couldn’t he take my soul? I mean, you said it yourself, Akaashi, that it’s just—sharing. It’s sharing.” 

“Yes, but the soul must be clean.” Akaashi’s anger dissipated with a blink. “Twice? When have I saved you a second time?”

“To cleanse your soul,” the emperor said, his voice sharp, “you must stay and repent in the river for a hundred years.” 

And the river was before them, suddenly, and he was standing on the bridge. Akaashi was behind him, close to the railing. The emperor was nowhere to be seen, but Bokuto could feel his presence, watching, and the river below hurtled forward. Bokuto tried to step forward, close to the edge, but his knees buckled down and he slumped with his elbow hitting a wooden slat. The river was dizzying. It whirled. He could feel it. He could feel it surrounding him, he was sinking, and Akaashi was by his side, pressing his hands across his ears.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said. “Let’s go back.” 

“No,” Bokuto mumbled into his hands. Then, louder: “No, I can do this.”

“I don’t need you to do this. I have failed,” Akaashi said, knuckles prominent. “It is my own shortcomings. You don’t need to prove that you’re brave. I believe you. Let’s return to the mortal realm.”

“I’m not doing this for you! Or, not for me, but, for me doing it for you. That’s why I have to do this.” Bokuto shivered. The water was so quiet in his ears. The faint blue above him, the current below, and he couldn’t stand. But he still tried, dragging himself up by the railing even while Akaashi tried to pull him back from the edge.

“I don’t want you to do this. Don’t be selfish,” Akaashi said through gritted teeth. His hands were becoming claws, hard and sharp and deep into Bokuto’s ears. 

“I know I’m selfish! Tell me something I don’t know, Akaashi!” Bokuto shoved at him, and they were fighting, desperate, on a bridge. He huffed out short breaths, trying to shove the full weight of a dragon off him, just as Akaashi’s claws scrabbled against the wood.

“Don’t do this,” Akaashi hissed, the wind hitting Bokuto’s sternum. 

“I have to!”

“Why?” Akaashi tried to kneel over him, but Bokuto twisted away and scrambled towards the center of the bridge, the highest point. The bridge keeled over Akaashi’s dragon weight, his scales already running like flames across his arms. 

“Because,” Bokuto said. “Just because.” 

Bokuto leapt from the bridge, and fell. 

The water rushed past his head, bubbling up beyond him. He held his breath, body struggling for breath. A hundred years, he thought, scattered and calm and fearful. But in the agony, he could repent. He would emerge from the river a new person. He couldn’t grip the water, but he thought it took him long to regenerate, so he would have short reprieves. Slowly, sinking into the dark, he opened his mouth, and waited to drown. 

He breathed fresh air. No water rushed into his mouth. He inhaled again, through his nose, feeling only air. 

And then he was yanked out of the river. 

Akaashi was kneeling over him, shaking him. He seemed in disbelief that Bokuto was conscious, still patting down his face. They had returned to the quiet room. The shadow had disappeared from beyond the paper doors.

“No,” Akaashi was saying. “Don’t be selfless—or selfish—or something—don’t do that, don’t, I won’t let you, I thought it was what I wanted, but I was wrong—I wanted something more—I wanted to feel something soft—aren’t you bonded, didn’t you say you had bonded, what would you have done with a hundred years of loneliness—”

“Akaashi, it’s okay! Hold on, my ears are wet.” Bokuto struggled to dry his ears, but Akaashi was clutching onto him tight. 

“Don’t be foolish,” Akaashi said, trembling. 

“I wasn’t going to drown, there was air. There was air in the river.” Bokuto frowned.

“Do you still wish to become a celestial dragon?” The voice came from nowhere and everywhere, and Akaashi stared into Bokuto’s eyes with a strange expression.

“No,” Akaashi said. “No, I don’t. I still have more to do. More to protect.”

“I was going to be okay, Akaashi! The river wasn’t real. It was just—a test?” Bokuto inclined his head backwards, but still no shadow appeared on the paper wall. But the room was disappearing around them, replaced by the tall forest once more. 

“It was not a test for you. I know very well your kind heart, Bokkun. It is reflected in your delicious mochi.” The voice, like the room, was disappearing too. 

The fog drifted through the trees. Akaashi didn’t move, hands and knees still in the dirt, hovering over Bokuto. The river had disappeared as well, leaving them in a thin part of the forest where the mortal realm was cheering and crowding and talking. 

“Are you sure, Akaashi?” Bokuto stared up at the line of his chin. 

“Have you bonded with me?” 

“Being a celestial dragon, that means, it means something to you, doesn’t it? Won’t all your dragon friends think you’re cooler if you’re celestial?”

“No, that’s the wrong question. Have I—bonded with you?”

“But if you’re okay with me.” Bokuto stared at the shimmering part of a tree, revealing a wavering glimpse of a crowd at a shrine. “Then I want to make a bigger mochi shop. The biggest in the whole wide world. Those nice glass cases, they’ll have all kinds of mochi. Rabbit shaped ones, even if you don’t like to eat them. Lots and lots and lots of mochi.”

“That’s impractical.” Akaashi finally released the tension in his arms, collapsing partially atop him. “But if I must, I suppose I must.”

The first bell began to ring. It was a sharp, startling sound, like a bird flying. Above the trees, the moon had climbed once more to the tops of the trees, breaking away the mountains. The bell rang again, and again, a solemn clattering. 

“Let’s go to the moon,” Bokuto said. 

“You’re not frightened of being banished there?” 

“I’m not scared of anything!” Bokuto frowned when he heard Akaashi shuffle, like he was hiding a smirk. “I’m not. But I want to go together. That’s all. I need someone to turn the dough.”

If Akaashi said anything more, he was overtaken by the bell. But his mouth did not move, even as he stared at the moon above. Bokuto touched Akaashi’s cheek. It was soft, and warm. He stroked it again and again until Akaashi caught his hand, though he only clutched his fingers tight against his cheek, and closed his eyes while he bent towards his fingers.

By the last toll of the bell, it was the new year once again.


End file.
